


No Peace

by Cultivation



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drabble, Fuck Talia Al Ghul, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Joker (DCU)'s Name is Jack, Killing, M/M, Mentioned Jervis Tetch, Minor Character Death, POV Third Person Omniscient, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Talia Al Ghul is a Rapist, Talia al Ghul Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cultivation/pseuds/Cultivation
Summary: Talia al Ghul kidnaps Joker from Arkham as bait. In a bid to taunt him, she confesses to drugging and sleeping with Batman.(Check the tags for important trigger warnings!)
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 123





	No Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty) for betaing!

Joker’s strapped to a chair of some kind in a lowly lit room. When he looks down, he finds the floor is made of concrete. He cranes his neck upward, finding a large spotlight blaring down upon his face. Joker chuckles something small at the absurdity of it. It’s exceedingly comical. It isn’t the first time he’s been interrogated. He begins to tap his tuxedo shoes idly against the concrete surface as he waits for his captor to show face.

By the feeling of his face, someone has scrubbed him clean of any greasepaint. It’s not a great feeling but, in situations like these, he doesn’t need it to be _himself_. Whoever he appears to be underneath the makeup is the fabrication. Soon after he gets bored with tapping his feet, he switches to whistling. Blankly, he tries to remember where he was when he was taken. He wasn’t doing _anything_ if he remembers correctly. Just sitting in the asylum, minding his own damn business. He laughs again, picturing the scenario of his kidnapping in his head.

After a few more hours of endless solitude, he hears the opening of a door and the footsteps of heels. Joker listens a little closer. By the echo of the sharp clack they emit, the room is rather large. By the sharpness of the clack, he can determine the individual is wearing stilettos. It isn’t until they come closer to the spotlight that Joker can see them. Talia al Ghul emerges from the darkness, carrying a metal fold-up chair with her. A dark bodysuit, form-fitting in all the places Joker despises, sticks to her skin. Her dark hair drapes against her shoulder and sashays with her every movement. She’s positively ostentatious.

They’ve met before, due to less _personal_ circumstances. A mere connection to the Bat, no matter how relevant, makes those sorts of meetings inevitable. This woman, from his experience, is quite relevant to Batman. Despite the few times they have met, Joker has always noticed something peculiar about the air of his Bat when she enters a scene. It was a small difference, but Joker never takes any part of him to be less important. The Dark Knight held his breath every time he saw her. He wasn’t breathless. He couldn’t seem to inhale. Such a strong reaction meant he was hiding something. The Bat, while secretive, wasn’t prone to hiding things from him. At least, not until recently.

_But, maybe I can get it out her._

Joker smirks to himself as Talia places the chair down across from him.

“I was wondering when my precious captor would show up!” Joker spits mockingly. “What is the pleasure of this fine occasion?” Talia sits down on the chair and crosses her legs.

“Clown,” she greets. Her cadence is marked with an accent Joker doesn’t care to place. “You have information I need.” He smiles at that.

“Oh,” he mutters. “I suppose you don’t have any water then? I’ll need some if I’ll be able to—”

“Quiet,” Talia commands. “My _Beloved_ has gone missing. I thought you might know something.” Joker raises an eyebrow. He hates the pet-name. If he wasn’t tied up, he’d cut her tongue out for it. As is, Joker remains in the chair, biting his tongue harshly.

“So, this is about Bats then?” Talia leans in her chair. “He isn’t missing at all. He’s in Gotham.” Joker juts forward, restrained only by the layers of duct tape and as many zip ties that could fit around his wrists. “Why?”

“He hasn’t been answering my calls. I thought—” She pauses, holding her tongue and observing Joker’s face. “So the scars are real,” she murmurs. Joker continues leaning, tilting the chair.

“Need a better _look_?” He smiles and she stammers. If only for a moment, she is stiff with fear. It’s all Joker asks for. It’s all Joker enjoys about other people who aren’t Batman: getting a rise out of them. Talia’s gaze becomes steely as she stands and pushes the chair back in place with her heel. It pokes into Joker’s abdomen without warning.

“Doesn’t look as good without the makeup.” She continues to stand, lips pursing with disgust. Joker pins some dry skin on his chapped lips and pulls with his teeth. Blood dots his lip at the tear of the skin. “I requested something of him… and he has yet to show his face here. I suspect it has to do with one of your fellow villain dealings?”

_Requested what?_

“I wouldn’t know of it, _darling_. I don’t like dealing with other villains unless the Bat is involved.” She doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. But, another question doesn’t arise from her tongue. “What do you want from Batsy, minx?”

“I am no such thing, clown. I merely wish to converse with your… _Batman_.” The inflection of his title on her tongue sounds as if she has never spoken it before. Joker narrows his eyes and grazes his tongue against his teeth.

_So… she knows his identity. Another presumptuous harlot._

“And the plot thickens,” he murmurs. She raises her eyebrows confusedly.

“What?” she snarls. “Speak up if I am to hear you.” He smiles back at her irritation.

“You’ve been in his bed then?” he asks. A knowing smirk widens as she crosses her arms. Talia’s change of posture tells him all he needs to know. “Ah, you _have_ … what makes you think you’re so special?”

“I have never—”

“Oh, but you _have_. Do you think he’ll come back for you then? I bet you might even think he loves—”

“I don’t think anything. I brought you here for bait and information. It appears you only have one of those things.” She turns rapidly, stiletto heels screeching, and exits the room in a furious storm.

“I’ll wait!”

* * *

Joker doesn’t sleep usually and— on the necessary occasions he does— it’s usually reserved to a couple of hours at a time. This time is no different. The only little difference is he’s not able to draft up any plans or go through with any of those plans. Instead, he is forced to sit in a chair and await his captor’s return. All of his life, he has never been a patient man. Joker recalls distant memories from his childhood (even though he wouldn’t really consider it _his_ by any metrics), spent in a classroom of a dozen students. A woman held a wooden pointer in her hand, pointing at a chalkboard. He spent the entirety of the period thumping his leg and getting lost in the inconsistent waving of the pointer.

Now, there’s no droning teacher or quick motions to latch onto. As such, Joker’s mind wanders onto memories. Another one pops into his head. It’s something more recent. The beautiful touch of a gloved punch against his jaw. It’s how he ended up in Arkham last. Bats never seemed too enamored to forget to bring him there. But, that particular night, Joker had taken a little too much. It warranted such an action. That’s how it works. Yet, there was no bite to his hits. A fury, a rage liked to possess him in those moments. It was indescribable. That night, it was gone.

_“You’re thinking about something, aren’t you?”_

_“Shut up_ — _”_

_“I can tell. Something has been wrong for months now… what is it?”_

_“You don’t need to know.”_

The sound of a door alerts Joker from his memories. Talia strolls inside the room with purpose, intent evident in her prying eyes. She still wants information on the Bat. Joker is intent on disrupting that. He always is in some regard. Toying with her is just another way to get to Bats. Her heels clack against the concrete in an annoying similar way. Displeased, Joker rolls his eyes.

_She has no taste._

“Couldn’t change shoes?” he asks. Talia soundlessly takes the chair across from him and sits.

“Couldn’t change your clothes?” Talia fires back. Joker smirks viciously.

“I’m afraid I’ve been too... _tied_ up.” She makes some indigent noise, somewhat close to amused.

“Joker, it appears you are the lure I needed.” The tone of her voice catches his attention. It sounds close to wolfish, with notes of utter glee tucked in between. Joker scans her face, trying to find the source of it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it one bit. It’s rather revolting. “ _My_ beloved arrived yesterday.”

“He is anything but yours,” Joker says quietly. Talia cocks her head curiously. Strangely, he finds her gaze uncomfortable to meet. Joker meets it anyway.

“Then, who does he belong to?” She hums to the quiet that follows. Intrinsically, Joker would like to say _his,_ but realistically, he can’t. He only takes what he can— what he is offered— and that is enough. (That is what he deserves.) Batman is an untamable beast, subservient only to those dead and gone. No one, not even himself, can bend the Bat’s will. Bitterly, Joker wishes he had a cigarette.

“No one,” he mutters. Talia scoffs, spreading her legs and letting her forearms rest against her thighs.

“Stupid clown,” she says absently. Her thoughts lie elsewhere, as she turns her neck. “He will be mine.”

“What makes you think that?” Joker asks aggressively.

“I’ll have leverage,” Talia speaks frankly. Her eyes hold Joker in an endless barrage of self-importance. “I’ve taken him, _used_ him, warped him and now… any moment, he will enter this very room to prove it.”

_Taken, used…_

Joker grits his teeth and thinks. He hides away any context of emotion rather well. He has lived up to it in too many scenarios to count. He can fake a lie detector and he can lie to anyone. Lying to Talia al Ghul only proves to be a challenge, because he never lies about Bats. He never lies about him or to him unless the action is absolutely necessary for his wellness. This very moment feels absolutely _necessary_. Joker is beginning to piece together the puzzle, and he doesn’t like the final picture. But, whatever it may reveal, he must see it. He must know what she is planning.

“What did you do?” he asks. Joker’s voice is uncharacteristically small and purposefully so. He needs to make it sound like it’ll break him (and it may do just that). Talia buys in like a kid at a candy shop, ready to snatch anything she can take. Her smile, from anyone else’s standards, is charming. But all Joker can see is grotesque lips and teeth, forming into a drooling grin. He imagines this is how other people see him. The irony of the situation doesn’t negate him.

“What I had to. My father needs an heir and I found a suitable candidate. Does that— does that bother you, clown?” She leans forward in her chair, metal legs tilting ever so slightly upward.

“Did he know?” A lull passes as Talia observes the blankness of Joker’s face. She isn’t sure what to make of it. It’s more unsettling than if he smiled. That would make sense and that was expected of the Joker. Whatever she was doing now gained an unintended result. Her curiosity grows, pushing her to pull the strings a little tighter.

“I don’t believe so,” she says blandly. “I put a little something in his drink to make him more pliant. Precautions were necessary for the plan to work. You, of all people, can understand that.” Her tone is bordering _bored_. “Your Batman is a big boy. I’m sure he can take it.” Fuzziness, nausea, and a pulsing in his chest buds at his senses. The world is off its axis and the room feels too small. Talia al Ghul feels too close.

_She… she_ —

“Where’s the kid, then?” Joker asks. The lifelessness seems to seep into his tone judging by the fingers suddenly tilting up his chin. Her eyes search his, visibly annoyed. She’s annoyed because she can’t piece together the puzzle. An urge arises powerfully in his mind to bite those fingers and tear mercilessly at the skin and flesh. But, he doesn’t. She deserves a fate much worse than a mere finger amputation. She needs to die and never come back. She needs her body burnt and her memory forgotten. Talia al Ghul needs to never exist.

“What does it matter?” she mutters. She is saying it more for herself than Joker’s sake. “Bruce will give me another opportunity until I get what I want.” An opening door creaks. Talia turns her head in the direction, flashing a brilliant smile. “Speaking of which… _Beloved_ , I’m so glad you could join us.” She rises from the chair as Bats walks towards her in soundless steps. Joker watches the display in utter disgust. He is unlike any Bruce he knows. The way his eyes hold no gaze and the way his body remains still. Something is wrong with him.

“What did you do to him?” Joker asks quietly.

“I warped his mind, of course. One of your people helped me with that.”

_Hatter… I’ll kill him._

A gun holstered to her belt is pulled and she ushers Batman to grab it. There is no hesitation; he takes it.

“Dispose of him. Prove yourself to me,” mutters Talia. That same predatory gaze lingers upon Bruce. He doesn’t meet it, sticking his gaze to Joker. If only he could reach forward and look beneath the cowl. Then, he’d be able to see if something was truly wrong with those eyes. A bitter hum resounds from Joker. It echoes across the room in an ugly way. Talia grimaces as Bruce comes to stand in front of Joker. She resides close as if to scrutinize his every move. He doesn’t raise the gun but reaches inside his belt. He pulls out a Bat-a-rang, sharp to the touch. “Nice touch, _Bruce_.” A fire burns behind Joker’s eyes, threatening to take over completely. He wants nothing more than to feel that same sharp edge push against Talia’s precious little throat. Instead, Bats pushes it against his Joker’s neck. The pressure would be exhilarating under any other circumstances. “Cut his throat. Kill him, Beloved.” He knows what to do. It certainly won’t be pleasant, but he will do it. The circumstances call for it.

“Do it,” says Joker quietly. Against his throat, he can feel the pressure loosen. “Shoot me, kill me.” Talia scoffs.

“Stop talking, clown.” He knows what he is doing will work. There is no other option.

“I bet you’d love to finally end it for good, right here and now. Take my life and let me bleed out—”

“Shut up—”

“I bet I wouldn’t even get a chalk outline… all the _things_ I’ve done.”

“Quiet before I cut your—”

“I bet your dear old parents would be so _proud_ of you, Bruce.” The edge of the Bat-a-rang stiffens completely against Joker’s throat. Bruce’s body stills. Talia ceases all movements. “They’d clap in Heaven and applaud you. I’m sure of it—” Her eyes bulge with venom.

“That’s it, clown. I’ve had enough of your games.” She attempts to take the gun from Bruce’s hands. He doesn’t allow her to, grasping her wrist and throwing her to the floor. He uses the Bat-a-rang to cut Joker free of the tape. The zip ties around his wrists prove easily cut with the same sharp edge. Joker rises from the chair and reaches out to pull down his cowl. His fingers slip around Bruce’s grip on the gun. Ever so gently, he takes it from him. Bruce’s eyes are dilated, pupils slowly returning to their normal circumference. Joker reaches forward with his other hand and thumbs the tears that fall. Soundlessly, he nods towards Bruce and he nods back. It’s an agreement, silent but assuring. “What the hell…” Talia mutters in disbelief. Still grounded, she struggles to get up but it just isn’t quick enough.

He pulls the trigger until the chamber is empty. Joker wears no smile and no pleasantry in the action. He doesn’t take joy in anything happening around him. She’s not dead yet. Her breathing is ragged with bullet wounds and blood. Faintly, her laughter echoes throughout the room. Joker walks to her rumbling body and picks up her foot. Bruce remains completely frozen in place. Talia struggles against his hold, dragging her bloody fingernails against the concrete. He pulls her gasping body into the same chair he sat in moments ago and steps back.

“B-Bruce…” she sputters. Neither man responds to it. Joker simply holds out his hand to Bruce, an offering. Slowly and quietly, with patience, he takes it.

* * *

_“I need to know.”_ His hand reached out for Bruce’s. He flinched at the mere touch. His posture in the driver’s seat of the Batmobile was tense. Joker had never seen him like that. It was horrifying. _“Has something… happened?”_

_“Joker, stop—”_

_“Stop acting like I don’t get this, Bruce.”_ The car stopped abruptly on the dirt road to Arkham. _“I can pretend out there. I can even pretend in there. But, I won’t pretend here. I know when something is wrong. It’s been wrong for months. Please, just… tell me.”_

_“It isn’t— it isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, Jack.”_ Bruce licked his lips and scraped his teeth against his bottom lip. _“I just… can’t.”_ Joker was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say to that? He wasn’t sure and continued to be unsure as the Batmobile drove forward to Arkham Asylum.

When they strapped him in the straitjacket, Joker thought about it. Bats always stayed to watch— to supervise. His eyes tore over Joker… usually. That night, his eyes stared a hole in the wall behind him. The staff at Arkham no longer wiped the makeup on his face and, as such, promptly left. Batman lingered, momentarily catching Joker’s pleading gaze. Then, with a flip of his cape, he was gone.

* * *

The compound is alight, fire consuming the entirety of Talia’s League. Smoke billows and fans out in the gray sky. The smell of it taints the air. Joker and Batman watch from a snowy vantage point in silence. Their breath exhales in visible wafts. It is in stark contrast to the heat that expels from the burning temple. Bruce’s cowl remains drawn against his back. He wants to speak, to say something— _anything_ — but finds he is unsure what _to_ say. Thanking Jack feels wrong somehow. But he is indebted to him, whether he’ll believe so or not. The disquiet of everything still lingers, an endless shadow to taint his days. Yet, it brings him closure on an open wound he never wanted to address. He will never see Talia al Ghul again and that he is grateful for.

Joker wants more. He wants to erase her existence. This is his new plan. No matter what Bruce may think— or _do_ — this is his mission. She’ll never be spoken of and she’ll never be known. Her face will be lost to time and her body will be a pile of ashes among the rest of the hideout, never to be discovered in the wreckage. And, once she is erased from time and history, Joker still won’t be satisfied. He’ll wish he had done worse. He’ll wish he could reverse the clock and crush the womb of her mother. But, most of all, Joker will toss and turn over the fact that Bats will never have any peace of mind. Bruce will never have peace. So, if he can’t have peace, neither will Joker.

No one will have peace.


End file.
